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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2007 with funding from 
Microsoft Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/backgroundofmystOOmajorich 


THE BACKGROUND OF 
MYSTERY 


AND OTHER VERSES 


BY 


GEORGE MACDONALD MAJOR 


a 2 ? 
4 ao © ic s 


NEW-YORK 
PRINTED AT THE DE VINNE PRESS 
1891 


‘ 


( 


* 


ght, 1891, 


By GrorGE MacponaLp Major. 


54s 


‘<The Background of Mystery ” and ‘‘In 
the Gods’ Shadow ” have lain in my desk 
for the past three years. Some time I 
had expected leisure and inclination to re- 
vise them, —but upon re-perusal lately 
they seemed lacking in unity of construc- 
tion or possibly are essentially unpoetical ; 
at least I felt that I could not work out the 
idea I had in my own mind. It is prob- 
ably folly to print what is unsatisfactory 
even to one’s self, but I could not consign 
them to oblivion without some little epitaph 
to mark their grave. The text for that 
epitaph will be culled from the critics. 

January 25, 1891. 


Vi0L008 


meee 


n 
° e 


PROLOGUE. 


Suppose that at the Judgment Day 
Some man arose in burning hell, 

Who in his agony could say, 
O Lord, my God! ts this thing well ? 


Behold, from all eternity, 
Before he formed the human race, 
God knew me and predestined me 
To suffer in this wretched place. 


Not for my sins or any tll 

That I had done to earn his hate, 
But for the purpose of his will 

fle doomed me to this awful fate. 


And when his Son came down to die, 
As chosen tn eternity, 

Fle brought me no redemption nigh, 
fits blood was shed but not for me. 


The years flew on, and in due time 
The harvest ripened. I was born, 
And lived unstained of any crime 
Or evil save as all men mourn 
5 


ON 


\Prologue. 


Some trivial, eins. Before the eyes 
Of rien, J lived a model life ; 

I made my home a paradise 
Of happiness for child and wife. 


I believed in God —I put my trust 
That he no mocking title bore ; 

Who called himself the ‘‘ Good” and *‘Just,” 
And ‘‘ Merciful,” forevermore. 


L held when God came to our reach, 
fle meant but what we mean alone, 

He juggled not with human speech, 
Nor gave for bread a lifeless stone. 


I did not, dared not, attribute 
To him such arbitrary ways, 

As would the blood-stained Moloch sutt, 
As even the heathen dared not phrase. 


/ believed God's mighty power was good, 
from which no creatures soul could fall , 
LT believed in God’s true fatherhood, 
In Christ who gave his life for all. 


I dared not think a favored few 
Alone received his love and care, 

While millions were but born to rue 
fits hatred and their own despair. 


jPrologue. 7 


But rather that alike to all 
His heart and ear were ever ope, 

That through dark clouds the sun-rays fall 
Of an eternal, living hope. 


Would any one to him rehearse, 
When thus tn visible agony 

He stood before the untverse, 
And pleaded for humanity — 


That vast humanity that died 
Without an altar, priest, or word 
From God —that smote clasped hands and 
cried, 
But no response from heaven heard ; 


Or those who hedged by circumstance, 
By alien birth or impotent wilt, 

Could not attain Faith’s saving glance, 
But lived and died uncertain still — 


Would any Calvinist, I say, 
That ever trod this sin-worn globe, | 
Defend his creed, nor find that day 
God’s answer to the friends of Job? 


January 25, 1891. 


Che Background of Mystery. 


CANTO T. 
THE CRY OF MAN. 


O THoU of human gifts the source divine! 

Lord of all sculpture, poesy, and art; 

The Unknown God behind the pagan shrine ; 
Muse whom the Grecian’s inperspicuous heart 
Fabled in Castaly — what song can start 

In soul of bird or man save as thou wilt? 

Of man what grand conception stand apart 
Undying through all ages save as built 

Of thee and thine the laud —alas, with man the 
guilt! 


Wherefore what man of unclean heart and lips 

Dare sing thee or invoke the heavenly aid? 

Not I— whose spirit walks in thy eclipse 

Without the pale in which thy saints have prayed. 
2 9 


ice) Che Background of Mepstery. 


Yet, God, what burning in my soul is made ! 
What sleepless nights these haunting songs have 
given ! 
The cry of man on whom thy hand is laid, 
Or shrieks that echo up from souls unshriven 
From lurid gulfs of Hell to the white shores of 
Heaven ! 


Yet, God, thou only should’st be feared and 
praised — 

The inconceivable Deity whose word 

Spake matter into being, and upraised 

From naught the varied universe, and conferred 

On rocks and leaves thy law — on beast and bird 

Sure instinct — thought and moral sense on man ; 

On man — sole man — who only has incurred 

Thy wrath —albeit according to thy plan, 
Which who has e’er resisted, Lord, or ever can ? 


All thy creation doth acknowledge thee 

Most marvelous, wise, omnipotent, and just ; 

Self-conscious, self-contained, and it may be 

Most loving and most piteous, as we trust. 

Who can exhaust thy praise, but ever must 

In silence muse on thy perfection broad ! 

The holy, happy, perfect One who dost 

Not need as needing anything our laud, 
Self-complacent, self-loving, self-sufficient God ! 


Che Background of Mystery, II 


How wonderful is this, O Thou Most High ! 

How different from the creatures of thy hand 

Who crave companionship and droop and die 

In isolation as frail vines that spanned 

An oak down-fallen, unclasped in every strand, 

Fade and decay; and oh! how far apart, 

Shrined in thine awful self, serene and bland, 

Untouched by tear or prayer or anguished heart, 
Immovable and calm — forever calm — thou art! 


For anger does not move thee as in man 

The spirit is perturbed ; thou canst not fear, 

And sorrow casts no shadow on the span 

Of thy eternity, nor suffering sear 

The tortured mind, or pain-throbbed nerve, or 
tear 

Of misery, but unmeasured by degrees 

Thou ever restest, yet work’st ever here, 

And work’st e’er yet e’er restest in thine ease 

Like streams of tideless glass, or waveless frozen 

seas. 


And Time and Space and Death are not to thee, 

And Far and Near bear no relation — thou 

Who fill’st Earth, Heaven, and Hell yet bodi- 
lessly, 

And hast no age on thy unchangeable brow. 

Thou hast no Past nor Future, only Now, 

Unapproachable Almighty who dost fill 


12 Che Background of Moysterp. 


Eternity — before whom prostrate bow 
Archangels, seraphs, saints who praise thee still — 
Thy creatures lauding thy unfathomable Will. 


All things were for thine own sole pleasure 
made — 

And man — not that they add unto thy bliss 

But so it pleased thee, for, as we have said, 

The bliss cannot augmented be that is 

Infinite — self-contained — nor would’st thou 
miss 

If by thy word this Universe returned 

To the inchoate darkness and abyss 

From which it sprang at first, thou hadst not 
mourned 

For man who prayed or seraph that adoring 

burned. 


Thou doest right because it is thy Will, 
And not, as some affirm, because ’t is right ; 
Thou openest wide thy bounteous hand to fill 
The raven’s beak, the wild beast’s appetite 
Howling in Libyan deserts through the night ; 
Thou showest mercy, and Wrath tarries still 
The heedless sinner once more to respite ; 
Thou lovest (blesséd is that domicile), 

But why? for Love or Mercy’s sake—nay, ’t is 

thy Will. 


The Background of PMystery, 13 


The Will of God —the very God of God, 

The pillar of the Universe — for lo! 

All things that are or will be on thy nod 

Depend —- all laws that bind the earth or glow 

In distant suns which we call stars, or flow 

In tides and winds, in tree and rock and dust, 

Are but th’ expression of thy will, and so 

The acts of man are shadowed by thy Must, 
Dread, irresistible, inscrutable, and just. 


In Heaven it blossoms in the pure white flower 
Of happiness and pleasure evermore ; 
Thrice happy they who find their natal hour 
Or death’s tide flowing — on that peaceful shore, 
Not through desert of theirs or good that bore 
The fruit of this reward, but thy sole Will, 
Turned graciously to them even as it wore 
Hatred to Esau and the fiends that fill 

The Pit with Satan doomed unto eternal ill. 


But Earth — oh, Earth! a great Belshazzar feast, 
Where all sup Fate, though few behold the Hand 
Pierced by the nail whose bleeding wound has 
ceased, 

Or perhaps affrighted cannot understand, 

Drawn by unchangeable Doom to Ruin’s strand! 
And yet shall man, whose spirit naught discerns — 
Because thus was the Universe first planned — 


14 Che Background of Mystery, 


Shall man —the clay the potter loves or spurns 
As pleases him — condemn the flames in which he 
burns? 


Is it because changed music in Heaven’s ear, 

The raucous cries of souls in endless bale? ~ 

Yet Sin’s swart shadow flung athwart the sphere 

Darkens the soul of men as with a veil — 

From hence, perhaps, springs thy wrath—a 
blasting gale, 

And thunders and dread lightnings of the Night 

Since Sin would even the throne of God assail, 

Unlaw the firmament’s remotest height, 

The angels’ service swerve and paths of life and 

light ! 


So Adam, the tree of which the race is fruit, 

Whose roots stretch forth and fibers grasp on 
Fell, 

What flower shall blossom from so dread a root? 

What fruit from such a flower and source so fell? 

What fate awaits the vine that bears not well 

Sour shriveled grapes or flowers that fruit no 
more? 

Or rose that Beauty bends to kiss and smell 

And finds worm-eaten even through the core? 

May not God, too, destroy the weeds his garden 

bore ? 


The Background of Mostery, 15 


But, O Lord God, the shuddering spirit cries, 

Blot conscious souls from life and quivering flesh ? 

Wilt thou curse briers whereon no figs arise, 

Or salt seaweed because unfit to thresh? 

Man born in sin and tangled in the mesh 

Of Circumstance — environed ere his birth 

By taint hereditary that afresh 

Reblooms when opportunity springs forth — 
Wilt thou consign to hell such frailty of the Earth? 


Infinite agony for finite sin, 
Eternity in flame for Earth’s few days — 
Is this the awful truth unfolded in 
Thy Book? And even we read with more amaze 
(Just God, thy saints for this too give thee praise) 
That ‘Sin and Hell are creatures of thy will; 
Thy strength supports the sinner in his ways, 
Determining each unborn act, yet still 

The deed though thine with him th’ obliquity of 

th’ ill! 


Yea, more—what Muse dare sing it without 
guilt ? 

Is it not written in Paul that Egypt fell, 

Predestined by the scheme thy wisdom built 

By whose election souls find Heaven or Hell? 

Hated or loved void ages illimitable 

Ere in the womb their bones and fashions grew? 

If Pharaoh, why not our first parents as well, 


16 Che Background of Mystery, 


And blood-stained Cain and treacherous Judas 
too? 
Ah, Lord, was not their sin the work given them 
to do? 


O God, thou knowest! I believe it true. 

Sophists of ethics, though ye rant I hold 

That every deed of man is God’s act too, 

However vile — however great in mould 

The human by Divinity controlled 

No murderer’s victim dead — no girl betrayed, 

No Nero in his life all crimes enrolled, 

But thou hast foreordained the career displayed, 
Dooming to penal fires whom no resistance made. 


The keys of Hell—the shafts of Death are 
thine. 

The good achieved—the crass mistakes of 
Time — 

War’s blood spilled on th’ ensanguined Earth 
like wine, 

Famine and Pestilence foul-bred from slime, 

The world’s appalling lists of sin and crime, 

Suffering and sorrow and wild phantasy ; 

The rout of passion — Love, the most sublime, 

With Hate its shadow, and all things that be 

For which men shall be judged — th’ efficient cause 

is thee! 


Che Background of Mystery, 17 


The silly insects snapped the poultry’s prey, 
The fowl, and fish, and flesh of savory smell 
That wait upon thy appetite to-day, 
Man, petty sovereign, shall they all rebel? 
What then! shall man cry from the pangs of Hell 
And at his bar ask God to be arrayed 
Who only has rights inalienable ? 
Go to — shall not the choice be his who made 
To love or hate, bless, curse, refuse or grant thee aid? 


Yet sin is that one awful thing in man 
Hated of God, and in the universe 
The only creature laid beneath his ban, 
But cursed by him with no fictitious curse, 
Nor ever can Heaven cease Sin to amerce, 
Save the Almighty abdicates the throne; 
For as the pagan fabulists rehearse 
Of old gray Saturn by great Jove undone, 
Sin would depose Heaven’s king and reign supreme 
alone! 


And this is man’s estate — O ye who tell 

Of finite sin, is it not infinite? 

Think ye sin ceases at the gates of Hell? 

Think ye the grave can harmonize and fit 

Th’ unleavened venom of the skeptic’s wit ? 
The festering sensualist — the warrior’s pride — 
The belle’s small vanity — nay, but as’tis writ, 


3 


18 Che Background of systery, 


‘** He that is foul, still let him foul abide.” | 
Death has no alchemy that such are sanctified. 


O fruitful mother of all heresies, | 

The foe of science, and sworn friend of wrong, 

The deft appeal to human sympathies, 

But not to seekers after truth belong 

These which Delilah-like seduce the strong, 

Calling on shackled minds the enemy 

Of partisanship, whose dangerous forces throng 

To join their strength and influence even with thee, 
Thou patron saint of hypocrites, Utility ! 


Yet, Lord, my God, there were two friends of mine, 

And both are dead, unhallowed of thy church — 

One drowned upon the southern ocean’s brine, 

Who knew thee not nor found thee in his search, 

The whitest soul I knew — without a smirch 

Of evil— from his boyhood consecrate 

To grand ideals and thoughts, from the high 
perch 

Of saintly, noble manhood ’t was his fate 

To die not knowing thee — Lord, where is now my 

mate? 


And she — who loved me more than she loved life, 
Who loved me more than fame —oh! where is she? 
A good heart with sweet, generous pulses rife, 
Who wept to comfort others’ misery,— 


Che Background of Mystery, 19 


A gentle soul who erred in loving me, 
And yet who dreamed thy mercy, Lord, had been 
So vast that like some overflowing sea 
’Twould overlook—lI dare not call it sin — 
The lightning spared her not. Hast thou, Lord, 
drawn her in? 


Can I be blest if she exists unblest? 
Could I be happy in heaven with her in hell? 
Lo! while she lived on earth she had no rest 
If I were heavy-souled. She loved me well; 
Unselfish, woman-like, unquenchable, 
Her pride, ambition, hope, were all in me. 
Can I forget her? Can I hope to dwell, 
Hymning thy praise in heavenly ecstasy, 

And see her streaming eyes glancing reproachfully ° 


The earth — the fairy scenes of heart and eye — 
Is barren now since she has left me here ; 
The flowers she loved — the stars she watched to 
Spy, 

First trembling in the twilight’s azure sphere, 
How different seem now since she is not near! 
In the dull pain of absence— O dread Death ! 
This is the heart-sick burden of thy fear, 
But worse even yet to dread the after-breath, 

Or shall hearts be less true when no flesh compasseth ? 


20 Che Background of fypstery. 


Oh, can this really be? O piteous Christ! 
This awful mystery — this dreadful doom, 
Like helpless babes to Moloch sacrificed ? 
Is such the after-fate that shrouds the tomb ? 
The young, the fair, the tender mother’s bloom, 
The prattling child, the brave, the gray-haired 
sire, 
The honored of the ages — blast the womb 
Of love that bears the children of thy ire! 
Be merciful, O God, and disappoint the fire ! 


This sweet-voiced child | hold upon my knee, — 

These innocent eyes— this cheek too pure for 
shame, 

Dearer to me than my heart’s blood can be— 

God, canst thou doom her to the unceasing 
flame, — 

Her tender limbs and lithe and cunning frame? 

Can it now be that in thy holy eyes 

She is accursed — and ere her birth by name 

Elected to thy hate, howe’er she tries 

Or seeks thee, doomed to feed the worm that never 

dies? 


What does it matter, then, what life we lead 

If thus in some unjust eternity 

The vicious action and the virtuous deed 

Find the same wage by some predoomed decree. 
Eternal death — whatever that may be — 

Of disproportionate torture — oh, I swear 


he Background of Mystery. 25 


The doctrine seems more horrible to me 
Than any fear-born blasphemy that e’er 
Was dreamed by naked savage housed in some wild 
beast’s lair. 


O Rachel, in heaven, can thy heart forget 
The children of thy travail on the earth ? 
O Mary Mother, dost thou harbor yet 
The memory of the pangs of human birth? 
Shall motherhood be e’er such little worth 
That it will spurn back to th’ abyss of hell 
The babe it suckled, and with mocking mirth 
Rejoice and praise Omnipotence as well 
That pushed it down the slippery steep o’er which 
it fell! 


If such can be, Lord God, unlaw the sphere! 
Let night-dark chaos reign and call for mate 
Another deluge, but no Noah appear 
The sons of Esau to perpetuate. 
Renew no rainbow to deride our state, 
Saved from the waters in the flames to lie 
Eternally, O children of God’s hate! 
To what frail refuge can ye ever fly? 
Take counsel of Job’swife: Arise, curse God, and 
die! 


Set thou a guard upon my lips, O God, 

Lest Sorrow’s voice speak words of sin and blight, 
Or love of race drive me to thoughts unlawed. 
Shall not the Lord of all the Earth do right? 


22 Che Background of #ypstery, 


Shall we not praise him even though he smite? 
Lord, our own hearts bear witness to thy claim 
Against ourselves — we walk in gloom and night 
Restless until we rest beneath thy name ; 

Only in thy tabernacle peace of heart e’er came. 


But what is this misshapen thing called Sin? 

What are her wages? answer me, my soul! 

Hast thou not found her very bitterest in 

Her sweetest service, as against thee roll 

Regret, remorse, shame, and that utmost goal 

Of bitterness, satiety —ah me! 

What-pleasure gives the harlot and the bowl 

To those who sin in heart-sick apathy, 
Indifferent where or what, so time glides rapidly ! 


The curse of Cain — th’ insanity of Saul 

Cry for the harp that soothes with fitful calm, 

But know at last in vain its echoes fall 

Upon the ear — oft heard, it brings no balm. 

Away ! let dance and revel, arm in arm, 

Allure thee to the gay and thoughtless crowd : 

The playhouse and the ball have yet their charm. 

Join where the laughter merriest is and loud, 
And drown in Lethean wine the memories of the 

shroud ! 


Coward ! th’ inevitable moment comes ! 

The summons issues forth, thou canst not stay ; 
The palsying hour that evermore benumbs 
The love.and light and hope of mortal clay. 


Che Background of Mystery. 23 


Canst thou bribe Death to lag upon the way? 
Ah, or in toil, devotion, play, or crime, 
Who seeks to flee or find him, God will pay 
According to his destiny — his time, 
His taste, his acts, fore-mapped by God to sink or 
climb. 


To sink or climb — who knows which fate shall 
win 

In the tragi-comedy of human life? 

And thou — whoe’er thou art — rejoicing in 

Health, wealth, caste, fame, the love of child or 
wife, 

Youth, and the hope and rapture of the strife,— 

Say, dost thou ken what shaft may smite thee 
low? 

With what of shame thy future may be rife, 

Thy youth all blessing but age curse the moe, 

White hairs and palsied limbs disgraced and bowed 

with woe? 


Lady, whose beauty dazzles heaven’s sun, 
Pure as the shafts of light, or breath of flowers, 
Stepping, like some regardless queen upon 
Rich rugs, o’er human hearts in thy soft bowers — 
Canst thou imagine how these midnight hours 
The outcast walks, rejoicing in her shame? 
Yet she was once as thee — and even such dowers 
Await full many now of spotless fame. 

O woman, who can say thine will not be the same? 


24 Che Background of Mystery, 


For what avails even birth from royal loins, 

Or priestly sires or wealth or cultured taste, 

If Circumstance, which is God’s Regent, joins 
The foes which need or inclination haste 

By love, hate, wealth, or fell ambition disgraced ? 
What reft imperial Hapsburg of an heir ? 

What turns the holy fields of Zion waste? 
Madness! which all in their proportion share, 
Thou reader, and who weaves these verses of de- 

Spair. 


Thou cail’st it madness — madness, yea, of sin! 
The universal heritage of man, 
All brought this world and all that follows in 
The world to come —the all-embracing ban 
Whose curse in every crime and woe I scan. 
Feel’st thou it not delirious in thy blood 
When uncontrollable passions lead the van? 
As wrecking waves tumultuously enflood 

The beach where lately summer ripples lapped and 

flowed. 


Oh what is man, and art thou mindful of him? 
The son of man, anddost thou visit him ? 

Or scorned of earth below and heaven above him, 
Orphan and outcast, who his sails must trim 


Che Background of systery. 25 


On Life’s mysterious ocean ways and dim 

Sans rudder, pilot, without compass, chart, 

Or aught that may the proper pathway limn — 

O man, a dread phenomenon thou art! 

Who knows thy course of life? its finish or its start? 


I call thy soul to solitude. Forsake 

The sprightly converse and convivial scene 
Awhile, and to some cloistered walk betake 

Thy lonely way, orto the shadowy green 

Of some vast wood where naught can intervene 
Save Nature’s own suggestions, and there spend 
A pensive hour and map thy course between 

Thy birth and death, and how thine actions tend 
To be in harmony with the dread journey’s end. 


What man dare thus withdraw his soul apart 
From its activities and there survey 

The character insphered within his heart, 
‘Nor turn with shuddering sigh his glance away ? 
I marvel not that saints became the prey 

Of demons in the ancient solitudes 

Of penance, but the demons were of clay, 

For always when alone to man intrudes 
Forlornly multiplied the Self that in him broods! 


4 


26 Che Background of Mystery. 


And this they saw, and so wilt thou, O man,— 
A glance of Hell— while round thee Nature’s 
calm 

Will add a second curse as if her ban 

Were too upon the wretch whose voice and harm 

Were th’ only blasphemy where else were psalm, 

Sole break in continuity of good. 

The very stars have an aggressive arm 

And war ’gainst sinfulsouls, and the tongued wood 
Loud whispers imprecations against their evil mood ! 


If grosser earth thus disallows her kin, | 
How shall he find in Heaven’s diviner sphere | 
Companionship —the sinless mate with sin? 
What pleasure to an unregenerate ear 
To sit among God’s holy ones and hear 
The seraphs praise him and th’ adoring Host, 
Apostles, martyrs, and elect draw near 
Proffering homage — every thought engrossed 
In endless laud of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost? 


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Che Wackground of Dpsterp. 


CANTO II. 


THE EULOGY OF CHRIST. 


SHINE, sacred Star, whose rays outshine the sun! 
Not Bethlehem’s plains have caught that light 
alone, 

But far as yonder orb of day hath run 
The circuit of the earth’s extremest zone 
O’er isles unnamed and continents unknown 
And mighty empires that will scepter sway 
Further than hath the Roman eagle flown 
In flight of conquest, all will crave thy ray 

To rise and conquer in the light of the New Day. 


Thy dawn brings a new era to the earth, 
A new creation greater than the old 
When the Creative Word in law spake forth 
And the evolving Chaos did unfold 
27 


28 Che Background of Mystery, 


Order, and light, and life, but now behold 
A greater marvel than the host of them ! 
For He at whose almighty word they rolled 
Into existence tears the diadem 
From his own brow and lies the Babe of Bethlehem. 


How sweetly evening fell on Judah’s hills! 

The sun behind them slowly sank from sight, 

The sheep had slaked their thirst from many rills 

And slept — the shepherds watched their flocks by 
night, 

When suddenly around them flashed a light — 

A heavenly light that made the stars seem dim, 

And in the glory was an angel bright, 

Who told the Christ Child’s birth, and seraphim, 

Cherub, and angel host sang the first Christmas 

hymn. 


The savage sword of bloody War was sheathed, 

And the first time in many weary years 

O’er the precarious throne of Czesar breathed 

The benison of rest from strife and fears. 

The youthful bride was wed no more with tears, 

The trembling children bade their sorrows cease, 

For Janus’ gates were closed—like summer 

meres 

The states of Rome slept in the glad release, 

And all the world reposed in universal peace. 


Che Background of vstery, 29 


Yet outward peace but mocked the inward war 
Whose battle-field was in the human breast, 
Alike in him who rode as conqueror 
As with the slave who feared his lord’s behest. 
They all sought vainly that one blessing — rest 
Of conscience and of mind, and finding none 
Some dared to die the worst perhaps to test, 
And others, haply braver, dared live on, 

But aimless and d/asé — the charm of life was gone. 


Even the Philosophers but guessed at truth, 

Few reverently and many scoffingly 

Babbling of God and virtue, while forsooth 

They cared, I ween, for neither. Such used to be 

The masters of the old philosophy, 

The mighty men of Rome —the wise of Greece. 

Some preached the gospel of Uncertainty 

And laughed at all—some thought the world 
would cease 

- At death, and men turned atheists for want of 

peace. 


This was the hair-held sword of Damocles 
That stole the zest from all the feasts of old, 
This seemed to wail a dirge upon the breeze 
And peopled solitude with demons bold ; 


30 Che Background of Mystery, 


It tarnished all the miser’s hoarded gold 

And sered the laurel on the victor’s brow, 

And turned the Forum’s glowing praises cold, 

And ’midst the pomp of the triumphal show 
The conqueror’s mortality it whispered low. 


From the tense thought of our consummate age 

Let us glance backward to that distant Past. 

Four hundred years God spake not. On the 
stage 

Of Earth’s activity there were enmassed 

Statesmen and seers, and warriors who are 
classed 

Greatest of men, yet all despairing, failed 

To formulate a scheme of truth, but cast 

Upon Death’s shore died stoics or assailed 

The gods they made or dreamed, even as old Hor- 

ace wailed. 


Great Ged! with what disgusting attributes 

Heroes and men of glorious minds conceived 

And robed the Deity, from Egypt’s brutes, 

Worshipped as God, to those that Rome believed 

In air and sea and wood — alike received 

By white-haired priest, cloaked sage, and igno- 

rant clown — 

Adulterous deities and gods that thieved. 

To altars foul with lust sweet girls bowed down, 
And matrons venerable, whose age was as a crown! 


Che Background of HMystery. 31 


O Sages! sapient names among mankind, 

High priests of Nature,—ye who proudly say 

That reason is not hopelessly purblind 

In things divine but liberal nature’s ray, 

Confess enough —at least in this our day — 

Why spoke the ancients with such different tone? 

Why cried the moral wisdom of their day — 

The wisest perhaps whom nature taught alone — 
That cry, ‘‘ That all we know is, nothing can be 

known !” 


And ye — what doctrines do ye now agree? 

Plain nature does this ‘‘ Age of Reason” teach? 

Gods — God— no God? Does Immortality 

Repair at Life’s dark end Death’s awful breach, 

Or does the conscious soul no future reach ? 

Who for this life even can the ways define 

Of Right and Wrong? Oh babbling words of 

speech ! 

The Sybarite will his creed construe with thine, 

Ascetic — or wilt thou to his stained path incline ? 


Blind leaders whom the credulous world receives 
Deluding and deluded — easy fools, 

Capacious in your faith, though it believes 
More miracles than in medizval schools 


32 Che Background of Mystery, 


Engrossed in book of horn by monkish tools; 
From Hume to Strauss—from Rousseau to 
Voltaire, 
Darwin to Tyndall— or where roguery rules 
The brood of Slade or Ingersoll’s loud blare — 
Where do you coincide? Whatunity do you bear? 


Nor yet even then — nor now t’ anticipate, 

Nor yet even then — so e’er is Error rife, 

Were the Diviner Script inviolate. 

The race-proud Hebrew with the words of Life 

Blurred God’s white truth with ritualistic strife, 

Careful of ceremonies, postures, dress, 

And scourings of a pot, a pan, a knife, 

Feeding on husks — the inward truth and grace 
He missed that these symbolic acts were meant 

t’ express. 


Arise, O Star of Hope, arise, unfold 
Thy perfect light—the New Day Sun seven- 
rayed! 

He comes whom Hebrew prophecy foretold 

And ancient type and ritual displayed, 

The World’s Desire for whom the nations prayed, 

The answer to the prayer of Socrates, 

The Christ whom Roman Virgil’s verse portrayed, 

Unconscious that his songs were prophecies — 
Thy true Messias comes, Zion fulfilling these ! 


Che Background of HAypsterp, a3 


The Magi saw His portent in the skies 

And hastened with their gifts. The path they 
trod 

Hath marked the way by which the Dawn should 

. rise 

And lead the nations on to Truth and God, 

And fling the rays of Liberty abroad, 

The westward march of Civilization and Art. 

Even savage tribes have at His name been awed, 

And a new softness trembled in their heart 

And changed the wish to slay and bade the soft tear 

start. 


As when the fierce barbarians sacked old Rome 
In the wild whirlwind of the world’s just feud, 
The foretaste of th’ Apocalyptic doom, 
The awful harvest of the martyr’s blood, 
The curses of the gladiators who stood 
And vainly sued for respite — without a tear 
The cruel Goth with fatal indifference viewed; 
The slave and noble in one common bier, 

The torch upon her treasures—all that Rome 

held dear — 


The mansions her effeminate nobles loved, 

The costly robes in which their vanity dressed, 
The sculptures and the pictures which had moved 
The world to homage — in his rude, dull breast 


5 


34 Che Background of systery, 


Awoke no admiration; on he pressed, 
His vandal course with blood and pillage rife, 
Until his soul the name of Christ confessed. 
Down dropped his upraised spear and ceased the 
strife, 
And for that sacred Name he spared the suppliant’s 
life! 


A marvel this as wonderful forsooth 

As any told in the Evangelist, 

That selfish, envious men withouten ruth 

Should be so changed —but how no convert 

wist — 

By godlike love their souls could not resist, 

That burned into their spirits like a fire, 

Cleansing vile nature’s dross! whoe’er held tryst 

With Christ but felt his mounting soul aspire 
Witha diviner craving than Earth could e’er desire. 


Yet to what pilgrimage does Faith invite? 
Not to sweet pleasures of the flesh, but gall. 
O’er goals in which men naturally delight, 
Wealth, dalliance, power, and fame, it casts a 
pall 
And throws aside for e’er beyond recall. 
Against all worldly pride it witnesseth, 
Yet learned, proud, rich, poor, high and low of all 
Peoples and times for this unearthlike faith 
Have lived despising life, and died despising death. 


Che Background of Mystery, 35 


Not thus the Jew’s conception of his God — 

That shrewd monopolist whose unctuous eye 

Grasps all advantage treasures rare afford, 

And pastures rich, deep wells, fat herds supply. 

Not such the swart Mohammed did espy 

In his salacious dreams —ah, ever rife 

With sounds and hopes of Earth, Mortality, 

Ne’er fashioned such a soul forth from its strife. 
To whom, Lord, shall we go —thou hast eternal life ? 


And yet did e’er possessions vast of gold 
To miser or to sensualist impart 
Calm peace and hope, and courage nobly bold? 
Did power e’er satisfy the sinking heart, 
Or learning, fame, or the drugged sweets of art, 
Or conscious beauty smiling at her glass? 
Ah, ever Envy like a poison dart, 
Or fear or Ennui — deadliest upas — 
Or yet unsatisfied Desire does still harass ! 


Alas, what slaves we areof sight and taste! 

We tread the self-same paths our fathers trod ; 

Ardent in youth with envious footsteps haste, 

Although worn graybeard Age has felt the rod 

And speaks the terrors of offended God, 

Or dies despairing else or satiate. 

But vain th’ example; each himself must plod 

The Wise King’s path, and happy is his fate 
If not for happiness experience comes too late. 


36 Che Background of fAypstery, 


All which we know and see and feel, and yet 

It is a barren knowl€édge. Human pride 

Even on the awful bier of death would set 

The trappings of vain-glory as to hide 

The hideous fact, or in despite decide, 

As some have lived on poisons to make fair 

With bloom, carved stone and eulogy allied, 

The outward guise of what must in it bear 
Foulness unthinkable — Pride’s pitiful despair. 


Therefore I say, since this is human nature, 

Proud, selfish, sensual, vain, in anger fell, 

It is a marvel when this perverse creature 

Whose tastes against his reason e’er rebel 

Is changed but little short of miracle. 

To cure the halt, the dumb, the deaf, the blind, 

To raise the dead seems less incredible 

Than that a man should love and serve mankind, 
Despoiling self with all for One ne’er seen resigned. 


Not thus indeed all who have named His Name, 
Ye priestly hierarchs and spiritual lords 
Who despotize God’s heritage and claim 
Tithes of all wealth and gifts the world affords. 
Minions of Fashion, surpliced semi-gods, 
Dwelling in palaces while round ye groan 
Christ’s poor, unhoused, unfed, unclothed — the 
bawds, 

Shall they not have a greater lenience shown, 

O Pharisees, than ye, when trembling at his throne? 


Che Background of Mystery, 37 


What signify huge edifices built 

By plunder of the widowed orphan poor ! 

Fine carven altars foul with Usury’s guilt, 

Stained windows and gay music to allure 

Rich worship to the beneficed sinecure ? 

O travesty on Religion! was ’t for these 

The Son became incarnate? to insure 

Luxurious pastors caste and scholarly ease ? 
Think ye such lives and churches doth th’ Almighty 

please ? 


Nor chiefly thou, blaspheming Scourge of Rome 

Who sitteth throned in incense as a God ! 

The murderous world that filled the martyr’s 
tomb. 

Hath knelt to thee and trembled at thy nod. 

Dark ages that spurned Christ first gave the rod 

Of sovereignty to thee, and at thy dread ban 

The saints of God have perished, and their blood 

Is on thee — vain, old, tottering, doting man, 

Who dream’st impossible dreams, for nevermore 

there can 


Be power in thy weak, justly palsied hand, 
Nor in thy maledictions strength nor fear, 
Such as when once before thy gate did stand 
A discrowned king upon whose slavish ear 


38 Che Background of Mystery, 


The laugh of wassail jarred while thou didst cheer 
The hours with wine and harlots as he stood 
A mark for all the winter blasts to jeer, 
Although even yet, alas! a multitude 
Who dare God tremble at thy name — unmanly 
brood ! 


What coronation hymn with flags unfurled 

Did Zion sing to greet her heavenly King? 

And Rome, the mighty mistress of the world, 

Whose streets yet with th’ Augustan triumph 

ring,— 

Does not her emperor to Messiah bring 

The crown and prostrate lay it at his feet, 

Beseeching Christ t’ accept so mean a thing ; 

And from Earth’s farthest bounds in haste to greet, 
Do not the far-off kings with lavish gifts compete ? 


O Jesus! Master of the winds and waves 
And human hearts! Thy glories heaven fill; 
The powers of Nature are thy suppliant slaves; 
The foaming sea obeyed thy mighty will ; 
Thou spakest to the tempest, it was still ; 
Thy word the leper’s sickness drove away ; 
The blind, the dumb, the halt, flocked round thee 
till 
Their sorrows yielded to thy healing sway, 
And Death at thy command delivered up his prey. 


Che Background of Mystery. 39 


He ran through all Life’s stages up to man, 
And added grace and dignity to all; 
A stainless soul whom Nature could not ban, 
He conquered her, retrieving Adam’s fall. 
He did no act unworthy of his call, 
Interpreting the thoughts of God to men, 
And wresting his dominion from the thrall 
Of Evil and beyond all human ken 
Suffering that awful death none e’er can die again. 


With whom will you compare the Christ? The 
light 

Of twenty analytic centuries 

Has shed upon his.life in love of spite, 

Nor shown a flaw. While even Socrates, 

Confucius, Boodh, Mohammed—more than 
these, 

All who before or since have given men creeds, 

Are all found peccable — unbending knees, 

Christ’s enemies, have glorified his deeds 

And cried, Centurion-like, ‘‘ This man from God 

proceeds.” 


The grandest souls are circumscribed by race 
And dwarfed to local heroes; seer and sage 
And patriots whom the world delights to praise 
Are cramped by limitations of their age,— 


40 The Background of Mystery. 


But Christ is universal, and the page 

In which he shines the legacy of all time, 

The world his country on whose boundless stage 

He moves th’ exemplar of each age and clime, 
Star of the Occident — the Orient Sun sublime! 


And yet the Root sprung from the barren ground, 

The undesirable because of old 

All kings were graced with purple robes and 

crowned 

With diadem and scepter, gems and gold, 

And in triumphal pageant proudly rolled 

Their chariot wheels with blood of conquest dyed. 

Such prove the royal rights that men behold, 

Confess and worship — such is human pride ; 
The poor, the meek, the unobtrusive, are denied. 


The world — poor, moribund world for need of 
Christ, 

The world he made discerned him not, and 
worse, 

The people set apart to keep his tryst 

By symbol, ritual, and prophetic verse 

And emblematical histories that rehearse 

His spiritual truth — his own received him not, 

But in unreasoning hate invoked his curse 

Upon them and their children as their lot; 

From that day unto this pursues the doom they 

sought ! 


Che Background of HMysterp. AI 


O wanderers of the world! Outcasts of Heaven! 

Orestes of mankind! a fearful doom 

Is this to thy once favored people given — 

Driven to perpetual exile till the tomb 

Is fairer than the banquet hall —the bloom 

Of Nature and the cheerful glance of Day! 

Abhorred of God and man — has Earth no room 

Amidst her wastes where thou mayst hide away 
Till the long day of wrath hath spent its blasting ray ? 


What means the heat of this great anger — say? 

What other nations hath the Lord used so— 

Preserving yet afflicting? Even to-day 

Thy brother Ishmael sees the palm trees grow 

Where he pitched tents three thousand years ago, 

In presence of his brethren and his kin, 

While Israel fled in terror to and fro 

O’er the broad earth like Cain —in shame and in 
His sufferings found no expiation for his sin. 


But oh, that sin —that settled evermore 

The status of man’s heart! Be mute, O Earth, 

With voiceless terror, and thou, Heaven, pour 

Cimmerian darkness in black horror forth. 

Be shrouded, Sun, that gave the morning birth,— 

How shalt thou shine, while men thy Maker slay? 

The Ocean seethe and comets burst the girth 

Of Nature — even the Grave disgorge its prey, 
Aghast at the dread burden those wooden arms dis- 

play! 
6 


42 Che Background of s¥ystery. 


O shuddering History, canst thou tell again 

That Socrates the poisoned hemlock drank? 

Or measure when the just Athenian 

Was ostracized how low his country sank? 

The glittering rolls of Fame became a blank. 

On all the glory men of old time prized 

Was ‘‘Ichabod” inscribed at crime so rank 

(As if the old world’s sins had not sufficed) ,— 
The scourge, the nails, the spear, the thorns, the 

cross of Christ! 


Words fail — the climax this of human guilt: 
Adam’s trangression, Sodom’s vice hell bred, 
The race engulfed, and Babel’s high tower built 
In Heaven’s despite are from comparison fled. 
Seal up the testimony! Shroud the dead! 
But doth th’ Almighty spare his blasting breath? 
O thou who marvelest at man’s natural bread, 
To see Life draw its nourishment from Death, 
Behold the substance here the emblem witnesseth ! 


For so had God decreed, and to this end 
The whole creation cursed by Adam’s fall 
Felt pangs of birth her inmost being rend, 
Else had the bolt of Heaven smitten all, 


Che Background of Mystery, 43 


Roman and Jew — but not the less appal 
Thy magnitude of sin —thy evil heart, 
O Man that knew not the predestined call, 
But in blind lust of evil played thy part 
And to all creatures proved how rightly cursed thou 
art! 


Earth’s wisdom, power, religion all combined 

To slay the Son of God, and even so 

To-day the self-same factors do we find 

Leagued in an impotent attempt t’ o’erthrow 

The Church ’gainst which is no effectual blow! 

Fools ! —as they curse and aim their shafts and 
mock, 

Year after year their vital wound they show, 

And so confess thy power, — Eternal Rock, 

On which the saints have stood and braved the cen- 

turies’ shock. 


Earth has no power that parallels thy death; 

No conqueror by his life e’er built a sway 

Comparable to that thy dying breath 

Founded. An army would arise to-day 

To which earth’s greatest battle was a fray 

Of insignificant numbers, if but so 

Thy warfare was accomplished, and Malay, 

Caucasian, Indian, Negro —all would glow 
With ardor in the cause and bless a fatal blow. 


44 Che Background of Mystery, 


Where are the victors whom the world has feared? 
The founders and destroyers of her powers, 

Who made the sea their battle-field and sered 

A populous plain to wastes which Heaven’s showers 
Could not revive nor Art rebuild its towers, 
From Cyrus to Napoleon? They are clay, 

Less mighty than this clod of soil that flowers 
When Spring breathes o’er itand her soft winds say, 

‘* Arise!” to buried seeds that hear her and obey. 


O Death, the loathsome, terrible and cursed, 
There is no wreck like thine! I will not rear 
Lament for those whose lives are of the worst 
(Although we all walk shadowed by thy fear) ; 
But, O insatiate Fiend; what have we here?— 
The cunning brain, the souls of mighty frame, 
The kings of men— one undistinguished bier, 
The foe of Beauty, Eloquence and Fame, 
The dread of Love, with emperor and serf the same! 


The dread of Love, which were almighty else — 

Celestial One that shapes within the heart 

A fairy place for glorious moods and melts 

The most ferocious by his godlike art. 

And yet even Love with poison tips his darts. 

O Thou who lovest most, is it not so? 

Is not life vacancy when far apart, 

And does not Doubt prove Satisfaction’s foe, 
Forever wilt thou love or thou please evermoe? 


Che Background of Mystery, 45 


And yet by Love and Death Christ’s throne is 
fixed, 

Immortal Love and Death that leads to Life! 

Intensest of all passions since unmixed 

With aught terrestrial. Earthly Love is rife 

With charms the eye can seize, and in the strife 

Of Mutability mere beauties fade, 

And oft the love of mistress or of wife « 

Nourished on false ideals dies betrayed 

With bitterer memories too from wounds for years 

self-made. 


But thou, transforming and eternal Lover, 

The Substance of all Good — Source of all Light— 

Thou art the changeless God! No space can cover 

Thy presence whose sweet glory shines more 
bright, 

To Faith where purblind Nature deems it night, 

Almighty Power and infinite in charms, 

Lord, Saviour, Friend—no circumstance can 
blight, 

No rage of men or demons cause alarms 

To those whose weakness trusts ‘‘the Everlasting 

Arms.” 


Time proves it true — deny it as thou wilt — 
All, all else fails to satisfy the soul 

There are true pleasures, too, by which are built 
Substantial joys, but yet they lose control 


46 The Background of Hystery. | 


Of fickle fancy as the seasons roll. 

The dreams of Youth have fled, Ambition’s toys 

Attract not when the life draws near its goal; 

Friends die, books fail to please, and Nature cloys— 
But Christ and Christ alone the parting soul enjoys. 


For this cause Christ assumed a mortal breath, 

For this endured the suffering and the shame, 

That so he might be Lord of Love and Death 

And Prince of Life with energy to reclaim 

The vile in sin. From prison, rack and flame, 

From happy homes, from couches of disease, 

From learned, from rude, from rich, from poor 
the same 

From our day, from th’ initial centuries, 

His witnesses—_a myriad host —take voice from 

these ! 


O happy people whom the Lord doth love! 
O. glorious Bride whom Christ hath made his 
choice! 
Thou shalt be safe when Earth’s foundations move 
And Heaven rolls at the Archangel’s voice 
Together like a scroll.— Rejoice! rejoice! 
For thou shalt then be with him evermore 
At whose right hand there are eternal joys, 
And cleansed from sin forever shalt adore 
The Saviour who for thee sin’s utmost penalty bore. 


Che Background of Mystery. 47 


Herein was Calvary’s agony alone, 

Christ’s pure soul cursed an offering for sin, 

And here ceased ethical questions though un- 
known 

How in white innocence was the origin 

Of Evil — nor why thus it should have been, 

Nor why such world-wide suffering is abroad. 

But by the helpless travail Christ was in — 

The Well-beloved of God — my soul is awed, 

And the dark shadow rolls from the cleared face of 

God. 


There are no creeds containing all the truth. 
Men with their finite logic can deny 
That God can suffer, but that scene forsooth 
He did not look on with a pitiless eye ; 
His heart must too have felt the agony 
As into Mary’s soul the sword was thrust, 
And since God suffered, though I know not why, 
Whate’er befalls a creature of the dust 
Is shallow to the depth of that Almighty must! 


The cross of Christ has proved God’s love for 
man ; 

His way is perfect — true, man cannot see 

Through the deep mysteries of the wondrous 
plan, 

But there is light enough to show to thee 


48 Che Background of Mystery, 


Men justly held responsible to be 
With moral limit to Almighty Power 
And limit to omnipotent charity, 
And some way to be known in the dread hour 
Of judgment all the guilt will prove man’s righteous 
dower ! 


Conceive the condescension of the Son 
Co-equal and eternal with the Sire, 
Who emptied out his glory and took on 
A mortal form, even though it did require 
In him renunciation so entire 
That evermore he must be God and Man, 
And asa Man bear flesh’s penalties dire 
And when no longer under death’s dread ban 
Be Man in Heaven still, through Heaven’s eternal 
span. 


Yet only so could God be known of men, 
Or seen in Heaven of created eyes ; 
For sinless seraphs veil their faces when 
Adoring — how much more vile man likewise ! 
Who sees the naked Godhead straightway dies 
Annihilated — but in Jesu’s face 
God’s glory shines resplendently. There lies 
The fullness of the Deity —all grace ; 

In him Heaven’s Tabernacle— God’sabiding-place ! 


Che Background of fMipstery, 49 


In Christ th’ unfallen angels are preserved, 

And Earth’s fixed pillars through his passions 
stand ; 

Even Hell is spared awhile, although reserved 

For final judgment at th’ Almighty’s hand; 

And doubtlessly yon curved blue skies expand, 

Made holy by the sacrifice, and meet 

For God’s invisible presence and command, 

Since even the stars that sparkle at his feet 

Are not pure in his sight, but marred and incom- 

plete. 


Then learn — although as the Creator’s act 
Sin bears a different aspect and device — 
Then learn in man how Sin’s accomplished fact 
Is execrable, since no less a price 
Than Christ’s death and abasement could suffice 
In expiation, nor the race restore 
That Adam lost when lust did so entice 
That he, for the deep love to Eve he bore, 
From self and from his race God’s image madly tore. 


But more by Christ’s obedience was regained 
Than by transgression lost, and this alone 
Argues, perchance, why sin a place obtained 
In the eternal counsel. If unknown 


i 


50 Che Background of Mystery. 


The mercy ne’er of God could have been shown ; 
His wrath and justice obsolete law had been, 
Unfelt — unfeared —the moral sense had grown 
Mechanical in creation, save for sin, 

Which evil in itself brought God’s perfection in. 


So man in Nature lost by Adam’s crime, 
In grace by Christ’s redemption occupies 
A kingdom and relation more sublime 
To Him who made and saved him, for men rise 
From moral death which holiness defies 
Absolved from sin — delivered from its power, 
So that as freemen now their duty lies, 
Adopted sons of God, and in the hour 
Of Christ’s own triumph shall his heirship be their 
dower. 


Yet still the world that crucified the Just 
Can see no beauty in him —let it scorn ! 
Tis the old heathen cry of Cain. We trust 
The Blood of Christ to save our souls forlorn. 
We find no goodness in ourselves, but mourn 
Our dark demerits, and we humbly pray 
That he our sinful places may have borne 
Upon the Tree, and so prepared the way 
For us to happiness. ’Tis all our hope and stay. 


eS 


Che Background of Mystery na 


Shades of departed seers, whose sugared words 
Robbed Death the terrors Life so prophesied, 
We see not how your faith with sight accords, 
But not on Nature’s facts your creed relied. 
Ah, monster dread, with Suffering’s life-blood 
dyed, 

Ravening in beak, and claw, and hand. We see 
Earthquake and tempest —s every power applied 
With nerve and mind’s vast capability 

Of torture to make life exquisite tragedy ! 


Old Sire, thy son of many prayers is dead ? 

Thy daughter, mother? Would to God she 
were ! 

Cypress, O wife, the wreath is thou hast wed, 

Not orange blossoms! Brother, what of her 

For whom thou hastened o’er sea to confer 

Ahome? Alas! she knows thee not — the strain 

Of expectation was too strong to bear; 

And so is man driven o’er the world’s hard plain 

With scorpion stings ofsin, shame, sorrow, madness, 

pain ! 


However men arraign the ways of God, 
He hath his justification in their heart, 
And few but feel the inward monitor nod 
An acquiescence to each punitive smart. 


52 Che Background of fM*ystery, 


All feel to some extent their guilty part 
In falling short of their ideal of right, 
The standard to themselves — which with cursed 
art : 
They break deliberately, and every slight | 
Deserves and must entail a chastisement and blight. 


eo 


Why should the sophist from analogy stray, 

Or dream of an immoral paradise 

Beyond the shores of Death, where far away 

The righteous and the vicious harmonize ; 

Where all shall reap the same reward and joys, 

But pain and merited punishment ne’er dwell? 

Away ! reflection spurns such specious lies, 

And even against the will doth conscience tell 
That Justice’ self must plead for an existing Hell. 


Lift up, ye gates, and let the Lord come in ! 
The grave was powerless to retain its prey. 
The Substitute who bore his people’s sin 
O’ercame the powers of death that holy day, 
And rose the Victor — Sin was purged away ! 
Th’ incredulous disciples saw their Lord, 
Yet scarce believed their eyes, for even they 
Had so misjudged his own prophetic word 
That when they saw his grave their hopes were there 
interred. 


Che Background of fyetery, 53 


Yet since his death the world has seen him not. 
The last glimpse given of the living Christ 
To loveless eyes was on that awful spot 
Where to their hatred he was sacrificed. 
The Resurrection is a tale devised 
By craft in theiresteem. Alas! alas! 
By nature alien and by Hell enticed, 
How slow of heart man is and ever was 
To believe the message prophets said should come 
to pass! 


Nathless as promised in Eternity, 

Some caught aright the truth of the refrain 

A seed have known and served, nor could it be 

The Son of God should come to earth in vain, 

Though seeming failure stalked among his train, 

And Earth at large is scoffing infidel; 

For God his plan and purpose does maintain, 

And that is right which dreadest seems and fell 
And shaped in harmony with his decree as well. 


And yet, O Lord, how long — how long, O Earth, 

Will Virtue be obscured and Vice renowned? 

Two thousand years have vanished since His 
birth, 

And even now the murderer is crowned 


54 Zhe Background of sMypsterp. 


If but his slaughter hath a world-wide bound; 
The petty thief who kills finds no renown, 
But with his death the scaffold does resound. 
A despot casts a nation’s treasury down, 
And madly hastes to war and finds th’ imperial 
crown ! 


Oh not as though thou ne’er hadst been Earth’s 
guest ! 
Thy teachings like the rain that heaven shares 
With good and bad impartially hath blessed 
Who hate thee most, and even War now wears 
A milder form and wounded enemies spares. 
The shackled slave is free, and woman, of whom 
Lust made a plaything, now new honor bears, 
And risen like her Lord from out the tomb 
Attains new rank in the new sanctity of home! 


O Woman, flower of heaven, or fruit of hell! 
Wine of the mercy or the hate of God, 
According as thy soul may rule the spell 
Of Passion or with Lust’s or Honor’s rod — 
Mother and wife and child —if she hath trod 
In the white sunlight of her chastity, 
A glory and a blessing— by her nod 
Inspiring men to heroic deeds that be 

The boast of Time —the victories of the true and 

free} 


Che Background of SP ystery, 55 


But ah, more deadly than the cobra’s eye 
Or honey of Trebizond that mads the brain, 
The melting glance, low whisper, amorous sigh, 
And the warm breasts’ voluptuous refrain — 
The moist hand’s pressure soft as flowers in rain, 
The scarce concealéd leg, the twinkling foot! 
What gift from men could not fair Helen obtain? 
Who with th’ Egyptian Syren could dispute 

Or to ripe Beauty’s lips deny her pleading suit ? 


With supercilious scorn the nations heard 

Christ’s doctrine of the brotherhood of man. 

What! shall the Jew believe the humbling word, 

Or Roman clasp the wild barbarian 

And fraternize with the uncultured clan 

In German swamps or woad-hued Britain’s tents? 

Yea —now where Earth’s great empires lead the 
van 

Of progress, there this truth divine presents, 

And hospitals, and alms, and healing arts from 

thence. 


That hybrid marriage even of Church and State, 

The wedded powers of alien hopes and ways, 

Like iron and clay the prophet could not mate, 

Still blessed the Earth with peace and better 
days. 


56 Che Background of fypstery. 


Even that communion in the skeptic’s phrase, 
Nor slandrous all ‘‘ whose annals are of hell,” 
Hath been a sanctuary worthy praise 
And a restraint for ages wild and fell 

Whom undefiled religion could not curb as well! 


And more — yea, sculpture, poetry, and art, 
Found a new birth in themes far more divine, 
Such new creations by the saintly heart 
That nations marvel and have made a shrine 
Of reverent worship for Art’s new design — 
No more the Wanton of unchaste desire, 
But the handmaid of holiness benign, 
Angelo, Raphael, Dante’s seraph fire 

And the immortal strains of Milton’s heavenly lyre 


There are who make it a reproach of Christ 

That Art is slighted where he reigns supreme, 

And that the genius of his creed sufficed 

For the spoliation of the works we deem 

The gems of Time, by which in their esteem 

The treasures of the ages found no ruth, 

The poet’s rapture and the artist’s dream, 

And though in hate they speak and strive the 
Truth 

To smite a mortal blow —’t is with somewhat of 

sooth ; 


he Background of Mystery, 57 


For these are trivial things in Jesu’s eyes 

Compared with human souls and sin and hell, 

To please the lusting heart with new surprise 

And in soft Luxury’s enervating spell 

To bid the poor worm-destined Body dwell, 

While the eternal soul that lives within 

Is left unto its fate immedicable. 

Dread Fate! when lost to hope, and love, and 
kin, 

From earthly mansions reft to the dread doom of 

Sin ! 


Statues, paintings, words,— the loveliest thought 

Of the intoxicated heart and sick 

With longings after beauty that hath sought 

In various ways to perpetuate its quick 

_Appreciation — but ’t is Culture’s trick 

To feed th’ artistic instinct and nice sense 

With form and color, grace and rhetoric, 

But leave the moral perceptive faculties dense, 
And cloud the spiritual eye, and blunt the highest 

sense ! 


Alas, the beauty of the flesh is lust 

Too often ! — even the melody of sound, 
The harmony of sculptured limb and bust, 
The lyrics with the immortal laurel bound, 


8 


58 he Background of fAvstery, 


May be as poison-flowers whose roots are found 
Feeding upon corruption, and in sooth 
Corrupting holiness and interwound 
With deadly injury to ingenuous youth, 

To woman’s purity, to virtue and to truth. 


Undoubtedly we may and must allow 

That Christ — to those who live aright his creed — 

Hath clipped the wing of Art and made her bow 

To Truth, in whose pure atmosphere indeed 

Lawless Imagination cannot breed, 

And though resplendent more those wings may 

seem 

With which the sensualist the hours may speed, 

They fail when Death wakes the delirous dream, 
As Icarus’ pinions fell in the sun’s fervid beam. 


Even as no one may with truth gainsay 
But Christ hath weakened love of human hearts 
Of man and woman, and of kindship’s sway, 
And Nature’s fearless, deepest charm departs, 
It is with power of these even as with Art’s 
That God assumes the first place in the soul, 
And these inferiorily,— yea, the darts 
Of love in woman lose their fierce control, 

Else whom she loves is God and Heaven and Life’s 

one goal! 


Che Background of Ppstery, 59 


And patriotism dies, and all earth’s claim 

To those who in His kingdom truly born 

Live the reality and not mere name, 

For have they not put Heaven’s livery on? 

All brethren — waiting for Christ’s coming dawn? 
Is not the world and even their own flesh in 

The evil one, and at the judgment morn 

Will not its powers and glories ’mid the din 

Of crashing spheres, all share the awful curse of 
Sin ? 


Lord Christ! to see those who have bent the knee 

And made obeisance in the mystic wave, 

To watch them fight in earthly rivalry 

Who thus have known thy love and power to 
save,— 

What shail we call such — idiot or knave? 

Yet at the bidding of some worldly power 

Christians have sent their brethren to the grave, 

Shedding their blood in the ensanguined shower 

Of massacre, as hate or conquest rules the hour ! 


If all the blood by rival Christians shed, 
If all the deeds most damnable and foul 
In their design by Christ’s professors led 
Committed, sanctioned by the church and cowl, 


60 Che Background of Mystery, 


Were not concealed by Time, the heavens would 
scowl 
And Nature’s hues be all incarnadined. 
Yea, how the mocking fiends of hell must howl 
In devilish glee when they behold mankind, 
And by Christ’s name see every vice or masked or 
shrined ! 


Ah, broad the line of demarcation lies 

Between the heavenly and terrestrial sphere, 

Christ and the World — nor can they harmonize, 

And false to both who seeks to find or rear 

A neutral kingdom or to bring them near 

And bridge by compromise or sophistry 

Th’ antagonism — one his bark must steer 

With no uncertain course, but choose to be 
Despised of God or Mammon through all eternity. 


’T is this that makes so pitifully sad 

The lives of the reformers of the world; 

Earth’s generous souls who have or who have had 

The hope to their unselfish eyes unfurled 

By ethics to dethrone the vices curled 

’Round man’s infatuate heart, but all in vain 

Their misdirected prayers and tears impearled 

In sympathizing eyes —at least their pain 
Brought not the Golden Age they suffered to obtain. 


Che Background of PMypstery. 61 


For they are seeking to restore to Earth 
The long-lost Eden, but by hopeless means 
Building their homes upon a godless hearth, 
As he who dared rebuild the ominous scenes 
Of Jericho, despite the curse that leans 
Upon its gates; but nothing evermore 
Upon Earth’s basis, man’s fallen spirit weans 
From selfishness and lust, or can restore 
Unto the soul the pristine whiteness which it bore. 


Until this is accomplished Art is vain, 
And Learning too, and Culture but a snare, 
As these in earthly Courts less favor gain 
Than ignorant criminals, for such gifts prepare 
The soul estranged nor dangerous menace to bear 
Unto the law abiding — so, ah me! 
That human wolves should wish Thy power to tear 
From this thy world may not a marvel be ; 

But, O Lord God, that Shelley’s soul should rail at 

fee ! 


O dreamers in Utopia! Minds astray 

With the more awful madness of the soul, 

Who have as ’t were sought to release the prey 
’ Of Sin from Heaven’s omnipotent control, 


62 Che Background of Mystery, 


By Nature still our feelings toward thee roll, 
For God’s ways to our fleshly hearts seem hard, 
And his hand heavy, and th’ eternal goal 
Of Sin — but it is perilous to regard 

The evil thoughts within that madden and retard. 


And after all we are driven to this choice: 
Christ, or— whom will ye choose instead of 
him ? 

From out the boding darkness, face or voice, 
Whose is there makes the terror seem less grim 
Or by whose guidance man his sails may trim 
And find safe haven past the Deeps of Death? 
Who born of woman but whose life fades dim 
Beside his, or is not as though we saith 

‘* Barabbas,” as of old the wild mob’s lawless breath ? 


The Saviour gave the individual place ; 

Till him mankind were great as nations or 

As governments free, or as a separate race, 

But not as separate persons, as in war 

Even now a thousand fall and Fame’s hurrah 

Is not for them but for the one who led 

And rose to prominence in the brunt they bore ; 

But Christ razed level slave and kingly head, 
And one by one before the Throne all Earth must 

tread. 


Che Background of sMipstery, 63 


There is a bastard science in our day 

Whose vain apostles vaunt their unbelief, 

Forgetful that of myriads who obey 

The Cross upon its annals are the chief 

Of Science and Philosophy — in brief, 

Augustine, Bacon, Néwton, Locke, — each name 

Should bring these pseudo-scientists to grief, 

Pigmies that strive with stumbling steps and lame 
To follow in the strides by which the giants came. 


Heavens ! what hypotheses drag out their day 
Like Jonah’s gourd -— the marvel of a night, 
Believed by petty dupes who worship pay 
To every spirit save the God of light. 
All lies are true, however great or slight, 
To bolster Infidelity, or show 
One of her thousand theories in the right, 
Though mutually destructive — if but so 

The creed of Christ should (as they hope) receive 

_a blow. 


Like Babel’s tower behold their building rise — 

These Architects of Laputa — up they reach, 

And deem ere long t’ assault the defenseless 
skies — 

When lo! Heaven’s scorn is visited on each, 


64 Che Background of i ysterp, 


The drunkard’s jargon — incoherent speech. 

Ah, blatant sophists! does Christ’s power decay ? 

Nay, rather grows colossal though ye teach 

What venom the line of scoffing hosts display, 
From Celsus to Don Quixote Huxley of our day! 


O marvelous Book —the Oracles of God! 
Thy foes have crept forth from the ooze and 
slime 

Of haughty hearts and straying feet that trod 

The paths of lechery or of sin or crime. 

O Light to Nature, and the torch to Time, 

The test of Science and the Treasury 

Of poets and the mold of the sublime ! 

The Statesman’s statute and the Orator’s plea ; 
Man were a dread enigma were it not for thee. 


We see thee yet, fair Star of Bethlehem ; 

It points the sinner still, O Christ, to thee ! 

O luminous above each twinkling gem 

That shines like gold-dust in Night’s galaxy! 

Olid creeds are dead, and now no votary 

To void Olympus sends imploring breath. 

Black Afric, cursed by Nature’s stern decree, 

In Christ becomes transformed from creeds of 
Death; 

The Brahmin and the Boodh take refuge in the 

Faith. 


Che Background of Mystery. 65 


But more than these are promised Lord, to thee ; 

The travail of thy soul hath purchased more, 

And knowledge as the waters flood the sea 

Shall spread and make thee Lord of every shore. 

Where one hath come a thousand shall implore 

Thy favor, till Sin doth no more inspire, 

And that day of predestined time restore 

Thine ancient people, who with psalm and lyre 
From every land will haste to crown the true 

Messiah. 


Meanwhile the land her lonely Sabbaths keeps, 

Pillaged by fierce marauders and betrayed 

By false Christs till the slain and ghastly heaps 

Without her walls a sickening festival made 

For jackals and the wild beasts, while arrayed 

In sackcloth those within fought with despair 

And famine — and like Thyestis’ banquet laid — 

But faint at heart the shuddering Nine forbear 
To chronicle th’ unnatural deeds the scribes declare 


Mad sires and women cast in delicate mold 
Committed, but the heaven above was brass 
To prayer and sacrifice, and as foretold 

By their Law-giver, never nation was 


9 


66 Che Backaround of Mystery. 


Before or since brought to such awful pass ; 
But turn from it, my soul — yet even to-day 
Th’ Almighty’s dreadful scourges still harass ; 
From clime to clime they flee, forever prey 

To rapine and to greed — lone exiles on life’s way! 


But not beyond reversal is their doom. 
Redemption comes; till then, O faithful land, 
In vain the stranger seeks to make thee bloom, 
But thorns and briars spring beneath his hand 
Luxuriantly, while cursed by Famine’s wand 
Sour, shriveled fruitage and aborted flowers 
That fail of harvest — all he can command. 
The forts and towns are dens—the wild ass 
cowers 
Beneath some ruined arch left of palatial towers. 


O land of Love and Death! in happier times _ 
Not thus the hours of day and evening meet, 
But when the moon the arch of heaven upclimbs 
The voice of heart and tabret cheer the street, 
And boys and girls at play. The air is sweet 
With odors of the vintage — blossoming trees 
And falling waters charm eye, ear, and greet 
The lulled sense with delicious thrills of ease — 

The pastoral joys of those who love delights like 

these, 


Che Background of Hystery. 67 


Olives, almonds, figs, the clusters of the vine, 

Night-blooming flowers, and, fairer than these all, 

The blushing maid whose starry eyes ashine 

Are brighter than the sparkling dews that fall 

Moonlit on purple grapes. The weary thrall 

Of desolate years have exiled even love, 

But once responsive to the turtle’s call, 

What tales were told to hearts that feared to move 
For very joy, in every haunted mystic grove ! 


These yet, will Zion’s be, and she who now 
Is scorned of all the nations, in that day 
Will wear a crown on her anointed brow 
And rule the earth with the supremest sway. 
The Star of Jacob will revive his ray 
And Israel and Judah bend the knee 
Restored, and to the Root of Jesse pray. 
Even from afar — the islands of the sea — 
To Shiloh will the gathering of the people be. 


But we, O God, grant us the second birth ! 

Our hearts are restless till they rest in thee. 

Like Noah’s dove, we wander o’er the Earth, 

Seeking, but find no sanctuary to flee 

Until we reach the road to Calvary. 

Lift, God of Peace, on us thy countenance 

That we the footsteps of thy saints may see. 

Lead us to Jesus — lead us by thy glance, 
And from our eyes unveil the scales of ignorance. 


68 Che Background of Mystery. 


By thy Son’s birth, from Mary’s sacred womb ; 
By the pure life thy righteous Servant led ; 
By Christ’s Temptation in the desert’s gloom ; 
By his Transfiguration — by the dread 
Gethsemane with awful agony red, 
By his thorn-crown, and cross, and by his grave, 
And by his Resurrection from the dead, 
And his Ascension, we lost sinners crave 

His Intercession now our souls from Hell to save. 


So shall we taste the everlasting joys 

At thy right hand when heart and flesh shall fail, 

When Earth is sinewless, and Nature cloys. 

O Bride of Christ ! no sins can e’er assail 

The Blood-washed who have found the Holy 
Grail. 

But God will wipe their tears and they will see 

The New Jerusalem within the veil, 


And the new Heaven and Earth where Christ 
will be 


The glorious Light and Temple of Eternity ! 
1888. 


EPILOGUE. 


Forgive the error and the sin 
Commingled in these feverish lines. 

Forgive the unpruned thoughts herein 
That fatl to reach Thy high designs. 


Forgive the blindness of the mind, 

The hardened heart, the shortened sight, 
That failed to feel Thee ever kind, 

That questioned if Thy way was right. 


Forgive that I, instead of psalm 

Of worship, gratitude, and laud — 
That I who dust and ashes am 

Should argue of the ways of God. 


Forgive the rash irreverence, 
Lf there be such in word or thought, 
As though I knew the Why or Whence, 
As though Thou needest to be taught. 


Forgive that in my ignorance 
I reason rather than obey, 

That at the end I casta glance 
Before my feet pursue Thy way. 


69 


70 Che Background of fysterp. 


But be this moral to my song : 
I hold by faith, though not by sight, 
That man must ever be the wrong, 
And God must ever be the right — 


Right when he smites the hardest blow, 
Right when he veils himself in Night, 

Right when our tears of sorrow flow 
And vainly still we peer for light. 


I know not the result of things, 
But still will hope in all distress 

That out of human fatlure springs 
The harvest of divine success; 


That no malignant lust to curse, 
That nota pang of needless pain, 
Obtains in God’s vast universe, 
But all works some eternal gain. 


JANUARY 26, 1890. 


MISCELLANEOUS VERSES. 


W Modern Ulpsses, 


1861—1865. 


uA 


IN creamy lawn and laces rare 
And ripe red roses on her breast, 
And jewels flashing in her hair, 
Her charms must not be sung but guessed. 
The marble fountain mirrors bright 
Her image in its beaded spray, 
No marvel in her lover’s sight 
She seems a Naiad come that way. 


The thievish breezes faintly stir 
The pillaged blossoms at her feet, 
Her faithful lover sees but her 
Compared with whom no flower is sweet ; 
For as her heart-throbs go and come 
An atmosphere around her flows 
Like the soft air that trembles from 
The shredded petals of a rose. 
Io 73 


74 


FAUiscellaneous Clerses. 


Her eyes pursue with languorous ease 
The limpid water’s airy flight, 
Or turn to vines trailed from the trees 
With pendant bloom or berries white. 
And then in ivory-lidded tombs 
She veils them in a transient dream, 
And while her thoughts find voice resumes 
The lately interrupted theme: 


““T love you— yes — but there has grown 
Within my soul a formless fear 
That startles like a prophet’s tone 
My doubting spirit’s inner ear ; 
And I have questioned of my heart, 
‘Is this the man thou dost elect 
Through life to sway thy better part 
And thy obedience and respect?’ 


‘¢ And ever — Oh, forgive the word ! — 
The answer, ‘ No,’ tolls in my heart, 
But better that its voice be heard, 
Even if the truth should bid us part; 
For though since Childhood’s earliest years 
You’ve been my hero ne’er estranged, 
Yet different now the world appears, 
And you or I, or both, are changed. 


Hiscellaneous Clerses, 75 


‘*¢ Although in truth you have as yet 
The same clear cheeks and eyes of fire, 
The courted leader of your set, 
The model of correct attire ; 
Though still the foremost as of yore 
In games and sports, at chase and ball — 
But, oh, the woman soul craves more 
Before it can surrender all. 


‘Vou have not lived — the silken cords 
Of sloth have bound you unto ease. 
O master of smooth flattery’s words, 
How trivial judged by deeds are these ! 
Though rank and wealth men hold as worth, 
If he has toiled to bless his race 
A base-born cripple bent to earth 
In Heaven stands in higher place.” 


As one whose hopes are in eclipse, 

As one who bows to doubt and fate, 
Her hands he lifted to his lips 

And brought her to her father’s gate; 
Then bowing with a courtly grace, 

He said, ‘‘ The vapid Past forgive. 
When next we stand thus face to face, 

I shall have some excuse to live.” 


76 


SAiscellancous Clerses, 


II. 


He was an orphan dowered with all 
That wealth could buy or caste desire, 
But now upon his spirit pall 
The joys he dreamed would never tire — 
The dogs that barked him welcome home, 
The steeds that neighed congratulate, 
The fancy fowl, the pigeoned dome,— 
From all he turned him satiate. 


And in his mansion with its walls 
With pictures decked in golden frames, 
And faint perfume blown through the halls, 
The smoking den and clouded games, 
Through every fair luxurious room, 
Unexorcised by morning bright, 
There seemed a specter and a tomb ; 
It was the ghost of past delight. 


Old founts of joy and wisdom’s spring, 
The books he loved had lost their sway, 
But music soothed the Hebrew king 
And drove his malady away. 
With trembling hands he touched a chord, 
And tried — but vainly tried — to play, 
For lo! his soul rose at a word, 
‘¢ Life isno more a holiday.” 


FAiscellancous Cerses, 77 


He glanced at his small, useless hands, 
The white, smooth palms of idleness. 
‘¢ The coarsest laborer’s on my lands,” 
He muttered, ‘‘I would change with his.” 
His nobler self as from a trance 
Awoke and mused in reverie : 
‘* To every noble thought of man’s 
God gives an opportunity.” 


The morning paper caught his eye — 
‘My country calls to arms,” he thought ; 
‘¢ Tf I should in her service die — 
I, who ne’er deed of labor wrought, 
I, who have only pleased my will 
Nor cared to sooth another’s pain, 
My heart were proved not wholly ill, 
My life were surely not in vain. 


<¢ And if some hand with honest tears 
Should write —a comrade it might chance — 
‘This man for five and twenty years 
Fared softly in sweet dalliance, 
And then like a new Prodigal he 
Flung his soft robes of slavery down 
And died that others might be free,’— 
This surely were a victor’s crown.” 


78 


HAiscellaneous Ceres. 


ITI. 


He proved he loved his country well, 
Through years of vengeful shell and shot ; 
And when the tides of battle fell 
His presence cheered each sufferer’s cot. 
Thus heart and mind in larger spheres 
And sweet activities did move, 
Till Peace kissed dry his country’s tears 
And he returned unto his love. 


Still young and fair with gem-starred hair, 
And clinging lace around her thrown, 
She met him with a gracious air 
And in her boudoir and alone. 
Her eyes still rivaled envious stars, 
Her laugh still] silvery melody,— 
But as a single false note jars 
The soul attuned to harmony, 


So something — perhaps the curl of jet 
Toyed with to lure his word of praise, 
Or perhaps the smile — O fair coquette ! 
An instant that the glass betrays 
Whate’er it may have been to dim 
The sweet accord of soul and face, 
He saw she had not grown with him, 
Nor soared above the commonplace. 


FAiscellaneous Clerses. 79 


She read his thought intuitively, 
And watched his ideal droop and die 
Before the vain reality, 
And laughed and chatted like a pie,— 
Yet hated him who dared to see 
In her fine gold the least alloy, 
And stabbed his love —‘‘ Pray stay to tea, 
And see my husband and our boy.” 


DECEMBER, 1887. 


Che Lady in White. 


ARRAYED in white she is more fair 
Than queens in state and jewels rare, 


Who frustrate Beauty’s high intent 
With meretricious ornament. 


She needs no aid from Art or Dress 
To magnify her loveliness, 


But like a violet by a stone 
Her beauty is herself alone. 


Her form perfection and her face, 
Her carriage stateliness and grace. 


The Host redeemed in garments white 
Are beautiful in Heaven’s sight. 


Their garb is but the simile 
Of inward grace and purity. 


So clad in white it represents 
Her true self’s snow-like innocence. 
80 


SAiscellaneoug Clerses. 


Her white soul ne’er by passion tossed 
Or wrong desire or hatred crossed. 


Her truthful mind without a spot 
Where evil thought adventures not. 


Her patient heart, her spirit pure, 
Her temper peaceful and demure. 


Arrayed in white she is more fair 
Than queens in stately pageants are. 


DECEMBER, 1887. 


Il 


81 


€o a Lady. 


IF by incredible decree 

This Earth revolved through endless night, 
The darkness could not rob from thee 

The homage that is beauty’s right, 
For men would hear and hearing be 

As charmed by ear as now by sight. 


For that immaculate soul of thine 

(A diamond in a pearl-set case) ; 
Thy radiant thoughts in words as fine 

(The index of thy spirit’s grace), 
Confess a beauty as divine 

As faultless form and perfect face. 


Thy voice — the nightingale’s complaint 
Is not more sweet, more rich, more clear, 
When thou dost sing of love or paint 
In flowers of song his hope or fear, 
And thy chaste hymns, melodious saint, 
Like seraph’s tune enchant the ear. 
82 


Fiiscellaneous Clerses, 83 


Should I compare thee to the sun? 
Night, cloudy night obscures his ray; 
The stars their wondrous courses run, 
But lose their luster during day, 
And birds of Paradise are dun 
When Eve’s white star shines o’er the spray. 


Love’s amorous bards applauding sing 
The flowers that scarce outlinger May; 

Thou wear’st them yet I will not string 
My harp to blossoms frail as they, 

When thou dost such an opulence bring 
Of loveliness beyond decay. 


DECEMBER, 1887. 


Destiny. 


BLUE are her eyes as the gem turquoise, 
The flowers in her cheeks are peonies rare, 
And the sun-bright halo that circles the saints 
Her burnished fillet of close-coiled hair. 


Love sees no sun that outshines those eyes, 
But beneath ivory lids they eclipse at praise, 
For she walks love-proof like the huntress queen 
And snowy-souled in her virginal grace. 


Love on her lips spies a rare delight, 
Love on her cheeks a perpetual feast, 

Love is enmeshed in her fragrant hair 
As a moth in amber is ne’er released. 


As a bee finds the nectar stored for him 
But stings the rude touch that would rifle the 
bower, 
The elect knight-errant will win the prize 
Borne on the car of th’ auspicious hour. 


While fully conscious that ne’er for me 

The charm of her eye or her treasure of heart, 
Still must I love her and worship afar, 

Seeing Love’s blessings but bearing his smart. 


DECEMBER, 1887. 
84 


Che Cest. 


Two angels couched beneath th’ ambrosial trees 
Of Heaven debated this deep question o’er — 
Whether a daughter of the Earth e’er bore 

An offspring who denied God’s being. These 

Argued as long as sprung from eastern seas 
The unleashed sun would touch the western 

shore, 

A day earth measure — and more dark the more 
The point was mooted grew its mysteries. 
Through seraphim, God’s tireless melodists, 

Cherub and archangelic host it ran ; 

Until a voice ineffable light amid 
Replied: ‘‘ Descend among the sciolists, 

And play queen, bishop, castle, king, knight, 

man — 3 

The pieces in full sight, the players hid.” 


Launched earthward where the star-clubbed 
hunter stands, 
They heard where Science held a tournament, 
Supposed denied or taught inconsequent 
Creative Mind —then without causative hands 
As men saw, chess and board a space demands 
85 


86 HAiscellaneous Clerses. 


Of theirownimpulse move, take check and end’t 
In mated king. At this one angel bent 
To test how far Earth’s casuistry expands, 
Clouded his glory, crying (fleshed as man), 
‘‘ Knights may not chess move of their own 
intention, 
If matter can this orderly world devise?” 
But they — ‘‘ There is no God, blind fool, but can 
These ivory bits play without man’s invention ?” 
So sadly the late disputants sought their skies. 


DECEMBER, 1887. 


A Uillage Maiden. 


SHE is a simple village maid 
In printed calico arrayed, 
In cotton stockings, misshaped shoes, 
Which dainty ladies never use. 
Coiled in a simple braid her hair, 
A common flower perhaps prisoned there; 
But never gems of art or mine 
Within its chestnut tresses shine, 
And never on her fingers blaze 
The diamond’s sun or emerald’s rays, 
Or rubies sunk in golden bars 
Like some imprisoned fire from Mars; 
But in their stead, poor piteous thing, 
Her mother’s mended wedding-ring. 
Ah, lady of the haughty stare, 
You would not waste a thought on her, 
No more than cast a second look 

Upon the dandelion root 
That for a pebble you mistook 

And pressed to death beneath your foot, 
Or did you crush it purposely 
Because it did not please your eye? 

87 


88 Miscellaneous Clerses, 


She has some claim to Beauty’s dower, 
The beauty of a slighted flower 

That sprung in every woodland lair, 
The fields and by-paths everywhere, 
The rustic churls pass blindly by — 
Oh then, what simile will apply, 

Since violet flowers and sapphire skies 
Are sworn to high-born beauty’s eyes, 
And lilies pale and roses red 

To wealthy ladies’ cheeks are wed? 
Could I some common flower discover, 
Unsung by bard, unplucked by lover, 
Then I could sing her eyes’ deep blue, 
The blush white on her soft cheeks too, 
The crimson on her lips, and ’neath 
Their petals the bright shining teeth. 


No title-deeds to wealth she owns, 

Nor bonds, nor lands, nor precious stones, — 
And yet, ah me! the care and fret 
Which vast possessions e’er beget, 

The thorn-crowned day’s anxieties, 

The nights that frightened slumber flees, 
Though wooed in rooms of gilded ease, 
And down and silken canopies ; : 
While she — her days in drudgery spent 
Hears in her heart the bird Content, 

And o’er her in night’s dreamless hours 
Sleep sinks like drowsy moths in flowers. 


FAiscellanecous Clerses, 89 


Ah, which is rich and which is poor? 
I hold this truth is fixed and sure: 
God’s compensation never fails ; 
He balances in golden scales 
The gifts of rank and circumstance, 
And never by fortuitous chance. 
It haps that on the breast of care 
Are pearls and diamonds warmed and fair, 
While the light heart of happiness 
Beats gratefully in gingham dress. 
Yea, she has riches in her health, 
Her very toil she feels is wealth — 
To wash a plate for one she loves, 
To feed her chickens and her doves, 
To steal at times a restful hour 
And watch her roses burst in flower. 
At church she sits among the choir 
And sings with a seraphic fire, 
And hears the minister relate 

How through his dear Son sacrificed 
The love of God makes rich and great 

Men—worms of earth but heirs through 

Christ. 

For her the new Jerusalem 
Has streets of gold and gates of gem, 
For her Life’s stream in crystal flows, 
For her the tree of amaranth grows, 
And she, though poor by earth’s degree, 
God’s child — thy heir, Eternity. 
12 


go 


FAiscellanecoug Clerses. 


O child of fashion, as you stand 

Upon the moonlit sea’s gray sand, 

So languid — weary of the day’s 

Vast opulence of idle praise, 

If some bright angel wandered here 

A season from his proper sphere, 
Which would he hold in nobler view — 
The guileless village maid or you? 


~ 


She ne’er has felt the fever heat 
Of fame thrill in her pulses’ beat, 
And yet she tastes a local fame — 
The whole round village knows her name. 
And tell me what the difference is 
Between the hero’s fame and this? 
Save that through longer arcs of time, 
More wide circumferences of space, 
The spreading circles of sublime, 
Immortal thoughts and deeds we trace; 
Yet millions plod upon the earth 
Who never heard of Shakspere’s birth, 
And empires vast even as his own 
Ne’er knew of Ceesar or his throne. 
O echo of a voice that was, 
O shadow with the substance fled, 
A footprint in the withered grass 
When he who pressed it there is dead. 
But her aim for the present here 
Is God to serve within her sphere 


FAiscellaneous Clerses, gI 


And leave the afterward with God, 
And to her Saviour all the praise — 
A true philosophy more broad 
Than anxious search for earth-born bays. 
What boots it to the heedless corse 
Fame’s plauding million throats and hoarse, 
When from the precincts of the tomb 
He cannot hear and could not come? 


She is a simple village maid, 
Whose timid foot hath never strayed 
A dozen leagues beyond her home. 
No daisies plucked from Keats’s grave 
Are souvenirs of days in Rome, 
Nor primroses that seem to hold 
A mirror to the moon’s pale gold. 
Nor heather that did sweetly wave 
Upon the Scottish hills betray 
How far her feet have sped away. 
Poor child ! — her innocence doth rate 
Her brother as a traveler great 
Since he beheld a neighboring State. 
She knows but little of the schools, 
Of Euclid’s problems, Murray’s rules; 
She never heard of Tasso’s verse, 
Of Petrarch’s Laura, or her name 
Whose loveliness gave Dante fame — 
The immortal triad unto whom 
It was their strange melodious doom 
That love should blessing be and curse. 


g2 


Miscellaneous Clerses, 


She knew as little, I dare say, 

As girls at Newport or Cape May 

Of Elzevirs and Aldi books 

And knowledge hid in musty nooks. 

Yet still across her mind, I say 

Bright golden fancies had their sway. 
The clouds across a summer sky 

Were not clouds always to her eye; 

The flowers and grass on which she stood 
Held teachings in them hidden by God, 


In whom —as ignorant as a bird . 
Of brilliant souls that grandly erred, 

She held — her hope in life and death — 
A present and undoubting faith. 

* * * * * * * * 


DECEMBER 31, 1887. 


W Coquette. 


THE oft-told tale of women fair, men fools; 
Strength leaves the strong and wisdom flees the 
wise, 
Ambition youth, from age his homilies 
(Frost in the hair ne’er heart of ardor cools), 
And sweet Philosophy in vain holds schools 
Before the smiles of those unchanging eyes. 
Thou who despisest conquered lovers’ sighs, 
Thou who more harshly than a despot rules, 
Since Adam dared his God for love of Eve, 
Men’s fame, kings’ crowns, the very flowers of 


hell 
Thy lovers have dared pluck thee and dare 
still — 
And thou—what guerdon dost thou give or 
leave? 


Ah, let Scotch Mary’s white-haired jailer tell, 
Or happier he asleep on Latmos’ hill. 


JANUARY 15, 1888. 
93 


Love and Death. 


THE blown sea breaking o’er a wall of rocks 

Hollows a shell-shaped bed for quiet waters 

And spent waves driven shoreward. Here we found 
her 

With tangled seaweed laced around her form 

Like strips of dark green satin, eyelids sealed 

As if some pitying sea nymph kissed them shut, 

And life’s last legacy to death — a smile — 

Upon her lips, and death’s dread mask itself 

So fair a counterfeit of blushful life 

That you might fancy her a naiad sleeping 

Or syren tired of song. Her hands down-dropped 

Jeweled and clutched in one a broken flower, 

And in her white-orbed bosom hid a letter 

Written in beautiful cursive script that read: 


‘*In love a woman’s heart and life are one, 

Or rather woman’s love lays hold on death 

As her protector when despised and spurned, 
The sole resource of honor and despair. 
Therefore as you have ranked my love a weed, 


94 


FAiscellaneous Clerses, 95 


I die — and seek from God but one revenge, 
That I who was not beautiful in life 

In your eyes may be beautiful in death ; 

And as you gaze upon me in my shroud 

Ask yourself: ‘What immedicable wound 

Did she inflict that called for this revenge ?’ 

You say I trod men’s hearts — have any suffered 
As you have made me suffer? I was young 

And beautiful, they said, and youth and beauty 
Love adulation, but I craved not yours. 

I spun no fatal web to catch your soul 

As you sought mine, and when with cunning skill 
You asked for love I gave you my whole heart,— 
And you — you crushed it with contempt and scorn. 
Therefore let all men judge who was more cruel, 

I who gave love to you that was my life, 

Or you who gave me hatred unto death.” 


Her prayer was heard — in death too as in life 
She was the model and the type of beauty 
That Art might copy and become immortal ; 
But I would rather picture her in life, 

Fair Proserpine ere she became the bride 

Of coal-black Dis. Oh, she was queen of life! 
The languorous breath that shreds the lily buds 
Into full blossom seemed to pulse around her. 
Even on the night that had such tragic morn 
My friend had given a ball where she had been 
Th’ admired of all eyes, praised of every tongue ; 


96 Hiscelancous Clerses, 


Addressed with compliments that spoken to others 

Were coarse hyperbole, but were to her 

As natural and right 

As self-prostration where a god has stepped. 

Alas! what change six fleet-winged hours begot: 

One moment as the moon climbed to her noon 

Bepraised, and then as noiselessly stole off 

As if an angel hidden in her flesh 

Had borne her off to heaven. Through the fields 

Twinkling with the dew and sweet with earth’s 
loosed odors, 

The ghostly patch of woods star-lit and cold 

We searched and called aloud, and Echo mocked, 

Till as gray dawn crept shivering o’er the sky 

We found her here. 


The letter was addressed 
Unto our host, who read it silently, 
His face an ashen white of sudden pain. 
But as we bore her tenderly to the house 
He spoke. ‘‘ After the funeral,’ said he hoarsely — 
“* After the funeral — come — I will explain.” 
And thus within a week we walked these fields 
Unto this fatal lake, and sitting here 
Upon the verdurous bank beneath this tree, 
He told his tale — the murmur of the waves, 
A sea-bird’s cry, a loosened acorn dropping, 
The only sound that voice or echo found 
To tell of other life. 


HMiscellancous Cerses, 97 


And thus my friend : 

‘The name of Edgar Clive is strange to you, 
But is to me familiar as my heart-throb. 
I met him first in Florence six years ago, 
Rich in his love of art and poor in purse, 
But in his heart and character a treasure 
Vaster than unmined mountains veined with gold. 
And I accounted his deep love for me 
More precious than my fortune. Day by day 
Our streams of separate life commingled more, 
Till like the ancient Christians neither held 
An individual property, but shared 
In common till this woman crossed our path. 
Oh, she was fair beyond all rivaling, 
To whom all spoke words should be poetry ; 
All flowers of language, all immortal thoughts, 
That shine through our poor tongue as the white 

stars 
Gleam through the clouds, too coarse exteriors 
For such bright souls, became her well as gems 
Her glossy hair or roses on her bosom. 
No wonder Edgar loved her — madly loved her ; 
But she —it was her sport — her heart despised 
The very opulence of adulation, 
Her polished selfishness sphered round her soul. 
That it appeared a virtue. So I swore 
That I would save my friend from this Delilah. 
But he was Samson shorn before I knew it, 
And not alone his love for me grew cold, 


oe) 


98 HMiscellancougs Cerses. 


But Art no longer held a shrine for him. 

He fled his atelier for gaming-tables 

To win her presents, and at last became 

Bankrupt; and then she smote his love with smiles 
Or archéd eyes that heard incredulous tales: 
‘Really she had not dreamed — she had not thought 
That his intentions were so serious. 

Sorry — she liked him as a friend so much.’ 

So I, the wealthy American, brought her tribute, 
The gold of lavish gifts, the myrrh of pleasure, 
The frankincense of flattery — and ere long 

She loved me deeply as my friend loved her. 

Oh, then it dawned upon me I was base! 

And then I sought t’? undo my work, and could not; 
And then I sought to love her too, but could not,— 
For love comes not by force or prayer,— and thus 
Were all things no whit better, but much worse. 
My friend scorned more than ever, and to me 
Awarding all the blame and loathing me; 

And she, to me who brought the vulture Hate 
Sending the sweet dove Love. I felt accursed, 
Ashamed of day’s white light, for so revenge 

Like to the tortured scorpion stings itself — 

Yet who could dream such love in a coquette !” 


‘‘ Twice perjured!” shrieked a voice behind the 
tree; 

“False to her memory who died for you ! 

False to the friendship you professed for me ; 


Stliscellanecous Clerses, 99 


There is not air enough ’neath liberal heaven 

For you and me to breathe and live an hour.” 

And turning, startled by this fierce tirade 

That brawled like a wild stream down banks precip- 
itous, 

I saw a man with features passion stirred, 

Brandishing in his hand a long, keen knife. 

’'T was Edgar Clive — my friend knew well the voice, 

And I intuitively guessed its name, 

And we both knew it gushed from lips of madness, 

As the deed proved; for hardly had we risen 

Than with a shriek ear-splitting, which the woods 

Re-echoed back, he rushed upon us both — 

But stumbled, being blinded by his passion, 

Tripped o’er a broken branch, and headlong fell, 

Sheathing the glittering weapon in his breast. 

So perished Clive within a swallow-flight 

Of where the lady that he loved had ebbed 

Her hapless life away upon the tide. 


And this is why this house is tenantless, 

And these rich arable acres lie untilled, 

Left fallow to the despotism of weeds, 

Luxuriant thistles, waist-high golden-rod, 

Rank grass, and here and there, chance sown by 
wind 

Or dropped by vagrant bird, a garden seed 

Taken root has bloomed ’mid alien environment. 

And by the lake the sea-bird builds her nest 


100 HMiscellaneous Clerses, 


All undisturbed along the sedgy marge,— 

While he who owns them, exiled from his country, 
Perchance now hears from far-off minarets 

The muezzin’s sonorous call or on strange hills, 
While Eve’s first star shines paly from on high, 
Lists to the bulbul sing his passionate plaint, 

At which the roses rend their virginal buds 

And breathe rich fragrant sighs. 


JANUARY, 1888. 


ADonuet. 


SHE placed the flower he loved in her fair hair, 
And whispered, ‘‘ Heart, he will be here to-night 
Of whom long years these eyes have mourned for 

sizht’’s 

And stood his picture by her sewing chair 

To make expectancy less hard to bear,— 

And so sat waiting — dreaming how time’s flight 
Had made his mind and soul more broad and 
bright, 

Making perfection what was ever fair. 

And when he came — O God! that he had died 
With his first word of welcome, so that she 
Had never known his spirit commonplace. 
How oft has love thus falsely prophesied, 
Th’ ideal smote dead by the reality 
As men were slain by the dread Gorgon face! 


JANUARY 22, 1888. 


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| THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 


